Juxtaposition
by TendancyToLive
Summary: Contains OC! Selected scenes of her story...rated T for swearing...just to be safe.
1. Unexceptional

_She can swallow knives, she can swallow lives, golden black stare but the night of your demise._

_-Gyspy Woman_

**So just as a quick note, this story is about an OC I made up really quickly. This is a few drabbles about her life, just a bit of fun. I have to excuse the Russian, I used Google Translate. I don't trust my month of Russian in writing. Enjoy!**

Ikebukuro, Tokyo.

It was night. It was alive. 'It' being it.

The city lights battle the night sky stars, and win, of course. The stars retreat. No-one ever wins against the city lights. Which is why to stand out in this city you need to exceptional. Particularly exceptional.

And she was. This girl was par-...

No.

She wasn't. Just another normal, bland foreigner in Tokyo. Another body in the mass of people, another pair of eyes, another pair of shoes. She was in no way exceptional. Just like the rest of the humans occupying this neighbourhood, except the more than obvious exceptions. Exceptions are exceptional, as a rule. ALWAYS.

Everything about the way this foreigner held herself screamed her personality. Tall and careless, she was leaning back, hips jutted out slightly. Her legs hip distance apart. One hand was lying in her sleeveless denim jacket pocket, another lazily holding a crumpled piece of paper. Her face was wearing an expression of seriousness, carelessness, concentration and slight bemusement. A juxtaposition in itself. Which sucked, because juxtaposition was the word she could never spell right, or even fully grasp the meaning of.

Сопоставление. _Sopostavleni__e. _What a difficult word.

The cigarette held, also lazily, in her slightly open mouth was almost finished. You could almost here protesting.

_No! No no! I'm almost out! You bitch, put me out! Pay attention, you drugged up nicotine addict!_

Her head was raised slightly to read the sign.

RUSSIA SUSHI.

She blinked, and slowly tuned into the surroundings. The street was crowded, fulled with eyes and shoes that were busy with the small space their lives took up in the ocean of Tokyo. All talking, shopping, laughing..._being._ She heard the voice.

"Sushi! You eat Russian sushi!"

She lowered her head, barely intrigued but focused. _Sopostavlenie._

A huge, dark man in white and blue clothes was handing out pamphelts while speaking broken japanese.

She made a noise that no-one else in the world heard, a small, insignificant "Hmn.", causing her chest to rise up and shrink back down quickly. Still, not one other of the 6 billion people in the world heard. She did, so that was fine.

She reached up, took the cigarette from her mouth (_Yes! Thank you, you nicotine zombie! Have fun burning my brothers!) _dropped it to the ground with a lazy and graceful flick. She kept her eyes fixed on the man as she walked, or actually, more like sauntered like a lionness towards him. Of course, taking care to step on the dimming cigarette. Her dark jeans strained against her thigh as she strode forward, her boots clunking on the pavement, jacket swishing.

She reached him.

"_Vy Seymon Brezhnev?" _Are you Simon Brezhnev?

He looked down at hearing native Russian, to see a henna haired, hawk-eyed foreigner. Who was not exceptional. He smiled.

"_Da." _Yes.

"_Da, Promah?"_ Yes, Miss?

She smiled gently.

"_Marya. Marya Demidova."_ Her name.

Marya looked up intently, seriously, kindly. Juxtaposition, again.

"_Mne nuzhna vasha pomoshch._" I need your help.


	2. Smoking

_But by the time the first bombs fell  
>We were already bored<br>We were already, already bored_

Sometimes I can't believe it  
>I'm movin' past the feeling<br>Sometimes I can't believe it  
>I'm movin' past the feeling again<p>

_-Arcade Fire-The Suburbs_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 2! Just a heads up...these chapters aren't in any order...that makes sense to you. To me they do. Someone once told me that Tite Kubo (Bleach mangaka) drew to music, and which song he was listening to became that characters theme. Well, the first time I imagined a slightly lost careless girl in Ikebukuro, I was listening to a good song. A very good song. So, I guess Marya's theme is The Songs we Sing by Charlotte Gainsbourg. Now whenever I write about Marya...I hear that song...it reminds me of her 100%. Well...enjoy. наслаждаться...<strong>_**naslazhdatʹsya!**

* * *

><p>People make you angry. People make you seethe. People make you want to throw things, people make you want to stick things in their eyes.<p>

Some of us have control. Some of us lose it, and yell till the storm cowers away.

But we all have physical restraint. Survival instinct. Brain to muscle! Brain to muscle! THIS WILL FUCK YOU UP. I REPEAT, THIS WILL FUCK YOU UP. WE CAN'T PICK IT UP, PUT IT DOWN!

Not him. Not the blonde guy in a bartender suit. Fortunate, unfortunate, whichever way you look at it...it's awesome. Some say it's nature's way of breeding out people like him. Some say it's a gift. Some don't care.

That particular night, Ikebukuro was buzzing. Like the entire city was on edge, all the girls were running around on tippy-toes, the guys were pumped. Everyone excited and tireless, looking around, confused about this surge of energy. The lights were extra bright, burning into the horizon, like a blemish on the earth's face.

One of these people was Marya, the hawk-eyed Russian. The juxtaposition.

She was skitting around the streets, also somewhat excited. The summer night was so warm, she'd left her jacket at home. Home? Well where-ever she was expecting to sleep.

She'd heard a yell earlier that night, from her office window.

A pretty familiar yell.

A very well-known yell.

"I-ZA-YAAAA-KUUN!"

Upon hearing that, she'd looked up from her lap-top slightly, stared into the darkness.

"Ah." she'd said, startling the sleeping air around her.

Being more bored than intrigued, she'd set out to explore, abandoning said denim jacket on the carpet. The night was still young, so Marya decided not to hurry anything and mooned around the city like a curious ghost till she ran into either one.

Strolling down a pavement leading to the paved courtyard with the lighted fountain, paved with trees and ryegrass, she watched the stars.

_If it's him, I'll buy vodka tomorrow. If it's the other one...I'll stick with sake. _

That was about when a figure drew her wandering eye. A tall, well-built figure. A smoking figure. A Shizuo figure.

_Sake._

Marya stopped, facing the other way to him.

"Yo."

Shizuo looked up slowly. He was in no particular hurry to verify who the accented Japanese was coming from.

"...Hey."

"Come for a walk." she smiled with inverted eyebrows.

To be honest, Shizuo didn't mind Marya's frequent requests for strolls around the city. She was one of those people who seemed to turn up with a face-full of surprise, but was the best cure for anger. She was the most calm, uninterested, goddamn _contradictory _person around.

She'd either confuse you into a puzzled but deep sense of concentration,

"_If you try to fail, and succeed, what have you done?"  
>"Wh-what?"<br>_Or just manage to walk somewhere really beautiful while listening to you rage and rant. Last time, she'd just stood and watched as he'd reached his limit and threw a small tree at a brick wall. Then continued on walking.

So despite his hesitant steps at first, they fell into the rhythm of walking. They set off, at the same pace. Marya was intrigued by their legs walking in synchronization for a few minutes till they reached the steps. He took two at a time, she only managed one. His scowl eventually dissolved.

They passed shops and shoes, people and power-lines, thieves and trees, bars and banquet halls, till Marya stopped in another courtyard, smaller than the one before.

She jumped up on a bench and sat on it, leaned back, chest facing the sky. Shizuo sat on the bench itself and took a cigarette. He threw her one as well. She held it in her mouth and leaned froward towards him, cupped a hand around the cigarette and he lit it.

"I though smoking stunted your growth." Marya remarked, after a long drag.

"I didn't smoke during my growth spurt. In fact...I started around the time you came. 5 years ago."

She laughed, loudly, throwing her head back and letting it rush out in peals.

"You should be thankful, smoking really helps your bad-ass image."

"What age did you start smoking anyway? Or drinking for that matter. When the hell did you start any of that crazy shit you do?" he said, finishing with a que-sera-sera sigh.

"16, 17 and I have no idea what you're talking about, Shizuo,"

She flashed a _you-know-better-than-to-question-that_ smile. Which was identical to her _I-need-a-drink_ smile. But completely different from her _everything-is-alright _smile.

He chuckled weakly.

"One day, I'll figure out whatever it is you do, and you'll have to tell me all about it."

She stared for a while then began to giggle. With a serious look on her face. Juxtaposition, strike 2.

"3 years, Shizuo, it's been 3 years since then. I won't ever tell you!" she smirked.

"You might have to. Look at the text I got forwarded by an unknown number." he passed her his phone without looking away from the fountain.

She took it, and beeped through it with a bemused expression and an exasperated sigh. She saw the text, a forwarded conversation. They were talking about the Dollar's main hacker being able to take on the informant's hacker. She looked at it, completely still, cigarette poised in her hand. Serious, bored expression playing on her Russian doll face.

"Ooh! A threat! How scary, Marya-chan!" chimed a teasing voice.

Orihara Izaya was standing behind Marya, leaning forward reading over her shoulder, eyes glazed with crazy.

"Hey Izaya." she said, completely bored, still contemplating the message. Smoking.

"I-ZA-YAAAA-KUN!" grated Shizuo.

Marya dodged the lamp-post that flew past her and ignored Izaya and Shizuo's yells as they sped off into the city blemish, leaving her with Shizuo's phone.

She shrugged inwardly, staring after them, forgotten again.

_Lief eez lief, _she told herself, how all the other idiots said it back then.

"Ah well, may as well play around." she murmured, taking a picture of herself, armed raised to the heavens.


End file.
